Free Better Than Friends by Lane Hayes Page B

the awkward pause any longer, I held my hand out.
    “Thank you, Paul. Thanks for dinner. This was nice.”
    Paul looked at my outstretched hand and gave a half-laugh. He ignored my hand and slipped his arms around mine for a brief hug. I’ve never been big on public displays unless alcohol somehow played a part, like the night I’d made out with Jack in the middle of Dupont Circle, for instance. My back was stiff, no doubt giving the impression I was less than interested. That wasn’t exactly true, but…. Paul smiled sweetly, seemingly unperturbed by my lack of response. He gave my arms a friendly squeeze and stepped aside when a black Audi pulled up.
    “I’ll be in touch.”
    I thoughtfully watched his taillights disappear.
    What the hell?
    I retraced my steps back up 17th Street toward Jack’s. I concentrated on the scenery and made an effort to stay in the moment.
    There was a short line outside the entrance, which almost had me turning tail. No way was I going to stand in a line with a bunch of leather daddies while I was dressed in khakis. My buzz had practically worn off, and I didn’t think it had ever been strong enough to allow me to look like quite that big of an idiot either way. I hesitated before stepping into the line just as the bouncer granted entrance to a large party. I stood alone on the sidewalk for a second longer, mustering the courage to finally walk toward the door.
    Jack’s was larger than I remembered and darker. Dark wainscot paneling like you’d expect to find in a library covered the far walls, while the circular bar front was covered in tufted leather. Antiqued mirrors provided a nod to old-world finery that came across as very contemporary juxtaposed with the generous use of leather everywhere else. Even the overhead pendant lights looked like they were hung by thick leather straps. It was a very masculine space with a modern vibe. It was obviously very popular too. The place was packed.
    Most of the patrons were in their late twenties like me or well into their thirties. And while quite a few were clad in the ubiquitous leather, many were dressed in jeans too. What seemed to be the biggest common denominator were muscles. Seriously. I was a khaki-wearing, under-muscled wannabe who’d wandered into a hotbed of hunky gay men. I made myself keep walking toward the bar. I was there. No sense chickening out now.
    I noticed the bar wasn’t a perfect circle as I got closer. It was squared off at the shorter sides closer to the walls and a few nearby high tables. I decided my best bet was to sit in the darker corner to stay under the radar and do a little quiet people-watching. I was there to observe. At least that was what I told myself. The truth was that I had no fucking idea what I was doing.
    Miraculously, I found an unoccupied stool and ordered a gin and tonic from a good-looking bartender wearing an extra-snug black T-shirt and tight leather pants. Both of his heavily muscled arms were covered in colored ink. I looked away quickly, not wanting to get caught gawking, but my eyes were drawn to the vibrant color and design. That must have been done over a few years. Wasn’t that shit supposed to hurt?
    What was I doing here? I couldn’t have begun to answer my own rhetorical question, so I decided to concentrate on my drink and get the hell out. I didn’t belong. The music was loud, and I recognized the song blaring through the sound system as a Kings of Leon tune I’d heard many times before. The lead singer’s scratchy, seductive vocals with a haunting melody singing about sex, sex, sex seemed like the perfect background music.
    “Is that really you?”
    I glanced up to see Jack smiling widely at me, his eyes twinkling with merriment. I was completely unprepared for how hot he looked in his “natural environment.” The song couldn’t have been more fitting because the guy literally looked like “sex on fire.” Jack was stunning. Darkly handsome, heavily muscled, and yeah,